[cw: disordered eating/puking mention in the last entry]

*

You know what? I've always hated my grandfather. I don't think I've ever written that down anywhere yet, so now I have (my father was a piece of work himself, but a lot less years to draw from with that fucker. ...And either way, he never hit me). I used to feel guilty for hating my grandfather, so guilty about it that I couldn't even let myself know that I hated him; I used to still try, with everything I had, to love my grandfather. It was what I was supposed to do, and beyond that, I thought that if I loved him enough, that'd fix everything. I also thought that if I did what I was supposed to do, everything would be okay. HA. The longer I lived away from him the more comfortable I got with simply hating him as much as he clearly hated me. What kind of freak regularly beats or whips the shit out of a kid for things the kid can't ever quite predict and then cries about it after, or even DURING, to his captive audience? You'd think, if something made you cry, you would stop doing it, or at least, stop doing it as a reflex. Right? HA.

Mom and Mamaji would always walk around him like a bomb about to go off, did everything they could to placate him, taught me to do everything I could to placate him, to soothe him when I upset him, be good be good be good be good you better be good or you'll upset him again and we'll all pay. They could be such strong, fabulous women in so many ways, especially Mom[85],but Granddad's presence-- or even the specter of him, the idea he could walk in a room-- made them wilt. Stronger than the fear of god. I hate him for that, too; for only ever being satisfied and comfortable with those he considered inferior to him when they were subservient and accepting of their lot in exactly the way he expected (for considering Mom, Anna, Esther, Roya, and Mamaji inferior).

But I have to give him credit for something. He could terrify me, but he also made me angrier and angrier the older I got. I never ended up hitting him back or anything like that, even if I daydreamed of doing that or worse (talking back yes, hitting no)-- the fear always won out in the end-- but for some reason, I feel like because of that anger, I never fully wilted because of him. I just grew numb to him. A compromise between anger, fear, and despair; a protection that might look enough like subservience on the surface. So I have him to thank, I suppose, for being like this so often recently. It's terrible but it's helped. And-- beyond that-- it means I don't have the fucking patience for men like him, like Walter, anymore. No matter how much everyone else wants to placate them. I know from experience it doesn’t actually make anything better. They’re never satisfied. And in any case, I'm not fucking seven years old anymore. I'm not going to bend over for you anymore. You had your chance and you took it. Now I have mine. And I mean, hey-- Walt DID always want me to toughen up some, didn't he? Jeff and Nate, too, come to think! So they shouldn't have anything to be upset about, really. They just got what they always wanted.

PS: Jack’s hair is still quite short but it’s grown enough that I can tell there’s a curl to it and god… I felt such a quiet excitement the moment I noticed, I almost forgot to breathe (ugh, I felt it in my dick, too… I don’t know what it is about that kind of hair on men, I’ve just always adored it, it always kills me). it’s already beautiful and it’s going to get a little more beautiful every time I see him, I just know it.

*

Was smart enough to request tapes and records of Kate Bush's newest in the 'states in advance so I could listen to it on release for once, even though I was terrified it would sound like nothing, or that I would only be able to hear it through an engineer's ears and nitpick more than listen. But no, it's near-complete perfection again. Closer than the last, actually, and her voice is the most beautiful it's ever been. The Dreaming had amazing, cathartic emotional moments but veered too far into the sort of English Theater vibe that Queen can get, and that's always been a bit off-putting to me in large doses[86]. Side A is the closest she's gotten to current pop but it's FANTASTIC pop, and if anyone dares to whine about "selling out" they're tasteless morons. Ugh, the first damn song slayed me right away and I was driving home and I thought about pulling over to just let it wash over me, but I just replayed it again later. It taps into a feeling that I think is a lot more common than people want to admit-- that sort of deep, obsessive envy of someone, even someone you love. The obsessiveness is why it's not talked about. Not polite. Songs that can pull from those sorts of places and bring things out from the darkness into the open are always compelling to me-- maybe because I have such a hard time doing so myself. And god, it's Kate, so of course she channels the feeling through her voice beautifully.

And then the NEXT song bowled me over too! The fear of the inevitability of falling in love, of being vulnerable with someone. Third track was SO fun, and then the fourth one was a mother song so I had to skip it near immediately. Fifth track nearly made me lose it, too-- something of a father song, and "everytime it rains, you're here in my head/like the sun coming out", the strings were beautiful, the sort of train chugging rhythm was perfect for driving it along, UGH, just perfection.

Side B I had to wait on 'til I was home. Extremely intense. Pulls from that dark angry panicked place The Dreaming would pull from but does it even better. The music matches the mental state perfectly, and they're mental states I'm far too used to these days, and not comfortable ones, but I was too excited to be very much bothered by the intensity or the fact that most of the songs were literally about drowning, which cuts quite close. Ends with a GORGEOUS, dramatic ballad with monk chant... singing? in it? But it works! And then immediately followed up-- concluded with-- the most cutesy happy little song on the whole damn thing, which made me laugh. A release of tension! Roll credits (Or: did the label “need” another song? Ugh, I hate them, I'm so sick of dealing with them, and Walter's gloating to me about how now I know how it feels, UGH shut up)!

This all makes me want to crumple up everything we've worked on, toss it behind my back, and walk away. The whole thing is such a compromise. So much of what I have to fucking do is a compromise. I feel like so many of our old records were a happy blend or an interesting clash of ideas, but this time around I'm really bored with Nate and Jeff's ideas. For one, I'm just bored of rock in general. I thought it was stagnating five years ago; boy was I in for something. And the most popular stuff is so OBNOXIOUS right now-- macho guys dressed in their crude approximation of drag singing things even more banal than we ever have, always surrounded by local models or actresses or whatever (a little insecure, are we?), and if they saw an actual drag queen they'd spit on her or worse. But Nate still likes his hard rock n' metal. I, on the other hand, found the most inspiration from dancing in little clubs last year with Ben on tour, this year with Jack (when they’re not the type of clubs you whip/get whipped in, that is). His choices, usually-- I want what's most alive, what's least touched by death. There are some dance tracks that incorporate guitar wonderfully, and in the beginning of this whole mess I tried to get Nate more excited about things with that in mind. And I think all the guitar parts he came up with this time are beautiful and I always tell him so, and I can't wait to rehearse them with him, but they're mostly not the coked out shredding he'd currently prefer, so he's still brooding more than he's doing anything else. I suppose I do understand the frustration on some level; I could NEVER play an instrument like a guitar completely tweaked the way he still burns through coke and booze. Oh well! It's not like my own frustrations with accomodating my instrument were ever taken seriously by anyone.

Anyway, at least all the FBI bullshit didn't set us back TOO far. Jeff still veers towards sap but has been very agreeable to whatever the consensus ends up being for various things, and he tends to be a tiebreaker in my favor, so that's helped-- he might resent working with a homo, but he can't deny the homo usually has a fucking point, which is something he admittedly does have over Nathan, who also still clearly feels hurt over everything I rearranged because of Walt, as if that hurt is anything close to what Walter put me through. Of course, Nate's always been good at turning away and putting his blinders on when he has to, regardless of any bluster otherwise. Anything to keep up what works for him personally. But is that even actually "working" anymore? He's a MESS. Like, ugh, I know. But I'm a FUNCTIONAL mess. I make damn fucking sure I am and I think that's a priority. I don't know what the hell Nathan's priorities are.

*

I've been giving Nate different kinds of attention to try and make up for all the work disagreements, regardless of my frustrations with him, because I can't help myself, I guess (and I need more, but at the same time I haven't quite found what I'm looking for either, and we haven't stood in the rain for quite some time and I don't even know if he'd remember that, or if it would even mean the same thing to either of us, but--). Nothing TOO heavy. Just little nudges. For the fuck of it, honestly. To see if he'll do anything about it. And he keeps playing with my earrings whenever he's in a good mood, which makes me want to keep this up even more, especially if it keeps him in a better mood.

I got dangerously close recently while he was practicing, though-- finally gave into the urge to lean against him. He tensed for a second but ultimately let me stay there, so I closed my eyes and fulfilled something for myself I’d wanted more than I could admit to myself. Feeling him play, feeling his music resonate through him and so through me, too. Having it become a temporary part of me (does my voice ever become a part of him? --a curiosity). It felt just as lovely as it did a couple years ago; closer to that musical heaven than I can reach myself these days. After the first real break in playing I lifted myself away from him, apologized. Told him I was going through a little rough patch but that his playing was always beautiful. "Weird to say after not lettin' me play for a year." I didn't stop you from doing any such thing. You could've played with plenty of other people and I KNOW you did-- I started saying to him, but I realized, right then, that he actually DID take the solo album thing personally. The lack-of-guitar. And I mean, I DID do that partially to spite him, at the time. But it was so silly! And it helped me be so creative, we had to experiment so much and it was SO nice that critics noticed that-- anyway, that's not what matters. I leaned back into him. Told him I was letting him play now, wasn't I? And he let out a defiant little snort. I asked him if he really thought he could make my songs better. "One way to find out." That's the spirit. --I didn't kiss his jaw, this time, when I told him that, in his ear. It was just a suggestion to remember when I had. I told him I didn't want him to be someone other than what he was, necessarily-- I appreciated the recklessness in his playing. I just needed it in harnessed bursts. Could you do that for me, Nathan? I could hear him swallow thick. Felt that and a nod against my cheek.

--And then the both of us heard Jeff knocking things around somewhere too close-by for comfort, and I lifted myself away from him again. Couldn't help but briefly trace the rounded bundle of muscle in his shoulder before walking away and leaving him to it. Am I actually starting to get through to him the way I want to? I suppose everything with Jack would be helpful with that... ugh, that recklessness really does make so much more sense at his age, though. He can bounce back from most anything. Nate THINKS he can, still, but can he, really? And can Walter just keep patching him up after each fall and sending him back out onto the field, no lessons learned? I mean, he can and he has, but SHOULD he? How long'll that keep working? And once it stops, who'll be the one to catch Nathan when he truly, seriously falls? Oh, my silly boys.

*

First holiday season without Mom. Didn't go to Anna's-- she's trying to keep everything and everyone together, still calls me and leaves messages from time to time telling me she misses me, that she's worried about me, that I don't have to stay away from them no matter what kinds of problems I'm having, that that's what family is for, that she loves me, blah blah blah. I've told her before how busy I am, how much I'm working, but she sees right through it because of course she does. Then again, that's one of the reasons I can't see her (beyond the simple fact that I never want to be high around Eli and I can't promise that anymore which already makes me scum). Does she understand THAT? I don't want to end up anywhere and I feel like I'm at a point where even if someone like Anna knew what was going on with me, I'd end up somewhere. She doesn't know why I'd want to avoid that. I can't talk about that, so I couldn't tell her. It would be unfulfilling for both of us at best, me going somewhere at worst. Likely hurting her somehow regardless. She's hurting anyway, I know that, but it would be worse any other way and she'd never get it.

So I'm sitting in bed by myself thinking of Mom, and family, and holidays, and how... I used to look forward to them so much as a kid, despite everything. Even more than that, they still held such a positive association for me 'til pretty recently. I'd get excited for the holidays! Were the presents that nice of a distraction? Or I wanted the ideal of it so much that even the dream of it, the hope of it, was enough? Or maybe Anna and Esther being there balanced out everything else. Anna did always try to protect us[87]. Things could be tense (the planning stages, the lead-up to holidays, being the worst), but having that crowd there meant the chance of getting beaten was very low. Sometimes it'd be worse after the holidays, like the emptying of a reserve, but that didn't make the prior respite worthless. There were always presents of some kind-- sometimes only small things, but not always, and sometimes something from my father (increasingly less as the years went on, and increasingly less relevant, until nothing). Great food, all the women picking at it nervously, Ebi shoveling it all on his plate and then down his gullet without a care, me trying to find a happy medium that won't get me any snippy comments from anyone, inevitably failing, then turning up the Sinatra Christmas tunes to drown out puking it all up later. God, poor Anna. She's the sanest out of all of us. How the hell did that happen-- I'm glad for her, obviously! but wow-- anyway, I suppose for a long time I tried my best to focus on the positive sides of it all, the togetherness, the relatively brighter mood, the good food. The more time's passed though the more the rest of it's crept in for me. Maybe because most of the holidays this decade have been total horror shows.

Introducing Shannon to all that was... ugh. She understood, and it was a way we both understood each other, but it still felt awful. She could be astute like Anna, too, in her own way. She sat in on me recording vocals for a track one time, and she asked me what the song was during a break. I told her there wasn't a real title yet, but that it was basically about a troubled family being able to come together and be there for each other when push came to shove. "Our families coming together never did that much good for us.", She'd said. And I said, but wouldn't it be nice if it did? To feel it for awhile, if only for five minutes[88]? But she was even more cynical about families than I was at that point (probably more than I am even now). I mean, she'd completely cut ties from hers. I'd always admittedly been impressed with her for it, even if I thought it was a little extreme. I suppose we were both used to extremes in our own ways.

Thinking about Mom is still difficult, so I can't afford to do it often. We were both so devoted to each other 'til I left for college, fell for Luis, fell in with Lorenzo. It was never the same after that. I'd broken her heart and Marv's trust too deeply just to afford a week's worth of speed. It got even worse the longer I was single, the more clear the reasons for that became, even if they were unspoken. I was her only child and it became increasingly obvious that I wasn't going to give her grandchildren-- of course she'd be upset. By the time I was with Shann her tumors were starting to really mess with her moods, so it didn't matter that I was with Shann, I was still a faggot. I'd do everything I could for her while I was home and she called me that and I couldn't get too upset, I couldn't let it get to me, and I still know I shouldn't I know she didn't really have control over it but god even writing it there's an anger and heartbreak (which just loops back around to anger) creeping in from the corners of my mind and it's awful, it's so awful, I was so terrible for her and everyone knew it but I tried my damn best anyway.

Being successful with the band really did make her so proud of me, though. I didn't squander all her efforts on me. I remember the day Ben got her set up side-stage (the day I fully and truly fell in love with him), how she clasped her hands so tightly around mine afterwards, how her eyes were full of tears but equally full of excitement and pride and love, how held I felt by her eyes in that moment. For that short time I truly and finally felt worthy of being her son. It's one of the few nicer reasons I have to hold on here.

Maybe I can sleep now. Maybe.

I want to make Jack feel held like that. I think I have. I hope I have.

*

[85]Mamaji always struck me as someone who used to have the strength Mom had, or something similar, until the years with Granddad took their toll.

[86] Some insist on comparing me to Freddie Mercury but I think it’s just because we’re the only queens straight people in rock press can think of– but we have such different styles, in everything we do, not even just musically! Ugh, it’s hopeless, though, I know.

[87]And I know that’s part of what she’s trying to do now, and what I’m not letting her do– she can’t protect me from myself. Not anymore, anyway.

[88]magining it for the hours that story was created with Jeff was oddly pleasant in itself. Another kind of imagining the ideal Chanukkah/Christmas, I guess. Maybe that's just what the whole of Jeffrey's life is like. How to even pull someone else out of that?